


Fevered

by ami_ven



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Community: writerverse, M/M, not really spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why shouldn’t I see you like this, Charles?  It’s my fault, after all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fevered

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "writerverse" prompts "void" & "the heart wants what the heart wants"

Even when Charles was actively trying _not_ to read the minds around him, he could always sense where they were. It was exactly like ignoring someone standing behind him— he knew the person was there, and who they were, but deliberately didn’t turn to see them. 

Charles found it reassuring to know who was near him at any time, and it was something he found himself relying on more and more since he had made the decision to use his telepathy rather than his legs, and given up Hank’s serum for good. After a time, it became almost automatic, especially when he was in a crowded place, his mind registering and dismissing others without conscious thought.

Until he passed the entrance to a low-walled city garden, and felt the jarring _absence_ of a mind. The tires of his wheelchair skidded against his palms as he brought himself to a sudden stop, heart stuttering. He froze, every muscle tense, and that was the only reason he heard the low moan coming from the other side of the wall.

Charles didn’t even hesitate. He spun around, wincing as his chair bounced on the cobblestones of the garden path and thunked over their edge into the grass beyond a thick oak tree. 

Erik sat slumped against the tree trunk, his face flushed almost as red as his helmet, his ridiculous cape splattered with mud. “Charles,” he said, blinking up at him, eyes unfocused. “I thought I had a bit more time.”

Of all the things Charles had imagined that Erik might say to him when they met again, those particular words had never occurred to him. “Erik?” he asked.

The other man chuckled, weakly. “I _am_ glad you’re here, Charles. Not… like you are, of course. No, of course as you are. Why shouldn’t I see you like this, Charles? It’s my fault, after all. All my fault…”

“Oh, my friend,” said Charles. Erik wasn’t just feverish, he was hallucinating— or rather, he believed he was.

“Of all the things that could bring down _the great Magneto_ ,” Erik continued, “it’s going to be the common cold. I haven’t been sick since I was a child, Charles. I survived… well, you know everything about me, you know what I survived. Only to die in an alley…”

“You’re in a garden, actually,” said Charles, and Erik snorted.

“I’ll take your word for it, Charles,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I remember what if felt like, your mind touching mine. I thought I’d never get the chance to feel it again, but you’re here, and you can…”

Erik’s hands shook as he reached up to pull off his helmet, dropping it into the grass beside him. “Please, Charles.”

Charles’s fingers tightened on the wheels of his chair. “You don’t mean that, my friend.”

“I do,” said Erik. “Why do you think I was so adamant that you stay out of my mind, Charles? Because needing someone is a weakness, and you would have felt how desperately I needed you. But what does it matter now? _Please_ , Charles.”

He’d had trouble refusing Erik before, but now it was impossible. Charles leaned forward in his wheelchair, fingers sliding along Erik’s jaw. His skin was hot, much too hot, and Charles reached out with his mind, projecting cool and calming thoughts.

Erik leaned into his touch, before jerking suddenly away. “Charles?” he said. “You’re… you’re real?”

“Yes.” Charles’s throat was suddenly tight, and he leaned back, pulling in his mental touch as well, but Erik blanched, flailing out to catch his hand.

“No, don’t,” he said. “Charles…”

Slowly, Charles reached out again with his mind. Erik’s mind was a jumble, images flickering oddly with the fever, but it opened to Charles’s eagerly, radiating regret and guilt and affection. Erik’s hand tightened in his, briefly, and Charles opened his eyes.

“Get up, Erik,” he snapped. “Up, now, and come with me.”

The other man frowned. “What?”

“ _Up_ ,” Charles repeated. He pulled on Erik’s hand until he staggered to his feet, braced against Charles’s shoulder. “Come with me.”

Erik’s forehead felt even warmer against his neck, but he stayed upright as Charles began rolling his wheelchair back toward the path. With some sleep and some medicine, Charles knew he would be fine.

He didn’t even notice the helmet they left behind, abandoned in the grass, and when Erik woke, three days later, clear-eyed and lucid, he reached for Charles’s hand and didn’t let go.

THE END


End file.
